


Miss Pemberley

by SuperPrincessPea



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 1800's, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Jane Austen - Freeform, Masturbation, Regency Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut, imagine, just for fun, regency england
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperPrincessPea/pseuds/SuperPrincessPea
Summary: Miss Pemberley has never met a man like Negan. He is a rogue, a fiendish American who cares not what he says or anything of propriety. His intentions are nothing more than to seduce her, which he does very well. Jane Austen style imagine set in 1800's Regency England.





	1. The Meeting

The village hall, though not the largests room to host a gathering, was certainly one of the prettiest. Mrs Falshaw and her daughters had worked tirelessly to gather enough fresh blooms to beautify every wooden beam. Their efforts were only enhanced by the warm light flickering endlessly from the heavy gold candelabras.

The party was the first of the season. Though not as large as what would be hosted at Lord Devonshire's house in three weeks time, it had still brought two new faces. Lucille had heard a tale of two American businessmen who had settled into a short visit with a ‘Mr Clarke’. She knew little of the man except to say he was an old lawyer and rumour would suppose that one of the visiting gentlemen had inherited some twenty thousand pounds. Or in other words, a vast fortune.  

As she stepped into the room she was in no doubt of her eagerness to see the men who had caused quite a stir amongst the ladies she was acquainted with. So eager was Lucille, peering around the room on the tips of her toes to see past the room filled with people, that she quite suddenly struck a wall she was certain had not been there when she began her movements.

A strong hand wrapped around her arm to steady her and she was flushed with embarrassment at the indecency of such a collision in a most public space. “Please forgive me,” she said as her eyes fluttered to his. He was a stranger with dark eyes and a smile that studied her in an all too familiar way. Her blush deepened. She was certain he was one of the American visitors, a notion only confirmed by the cadence of his voice.

“I may forgive you my dear, but first I require your name.”

“Miss Lucille Pemberley.”

He kissed the back of her hand but it was no chast touch, he brushed her knuckles with open lips, marking her in one languid kiss that payed no heed to prying eyes as his gaze held locked with hers.  

Lucille startled at the sensation and thought to pull away from him but found she could not.

“You have my forgiveness Miss Pemberley. Now you must allow me a dance.”

Lucille was breathless, wordless, as was a most unusual circumstance for her. She lingered with her hand in his before remembering the good manners that had so frequently been instilled, “your name Sir?”

“Negan.”

“A gentleman with only one name?”

“Oh, I’m no gentleman Miss Pemberley,” his eyes were dark, his smile more fiendish. Without a single word she was led to the floor like a lamb would be led to slaughter.

A fresh reel began and each dancer took their place, she with her dark and strange partner in the centre of the thrall and although the dancers were many she might have been alone with this Mr Negan. Lucille had heard tales of his exploits, most of them scandalous and though she had wanted to seek his company and meet this man of notoriety she was now at full awareness of the glances cast her way from about the room.

They stepped in turn, the dance allowing a private moment where their faces were almost touching, “you would make a very alluring wife. What would you say to being mine?”

Lucille could not answer, never had she imagined such an indelicate proposition. She could hardly look at him for the rest of the turns and resigned herself to avoiding Mr Negan for the entirety of the evening. So shocked was she for his unseemly behavior that she was certain she would not be able to confess the truth of it to even her closest friend.

The dance came to an end that had not been soon enough and Lucille took her leave, “please excuse me, I require some air.”

“Excellent idea Miss Pemberley, permit me to escort you.” As before Negan allowed her no opportunity to reject his offer and soon they stood on the balcony with Mrs Falshaw and her eldest daughter as silent chaperones.

She looked away from his features but the effect he stirred was clear from the way her chest heaved, fighting against the restraints of her corset, making her almost light headed.

“You misheard me when we were dancing Miss Pemberley?”

“I did not.”

“Good. I have only two requirements in a wife.”

She looked at him and his most preposterous offer. He was surely set out to ruin her.

“The first requirement is that she be beautiful and I have seen no match to your beauty,” he moved closer, blocking her view of Mrs Falshaw as his thumb caressed her jaw, the sudden touch arousing unknown longing as warmth spread along her veins.

Lucille turned her face away from the delicious impropriety.

“You are certainly beguiling Miss Pemberley.” Negan moved to a more appropriate distance, leaving within Lucille a dull throb like a question unanswered. “Second, I desire you to say yes and be agreeable to marry me by the end of the week.”

“Sir! You are to say you think nothing of the temperament of your wife?”

“Women are fickle creature’s,” he laughed, leaning against the balcony, his arms folded and caring nothing of decorum or the ears that were surely hearing every morsel of this conversation. “I am under no illusion that a woman will show one temperament in courtship and another in marriage.”

“If you think so low of women then perhaps you would find yourself better suited to bachelorhood.”

“I’ve enjoyed bachelorhood for many years my dear but every man needs sons and the voyage home is disagreeable without...   _marital entertainment._ ”

He was a cad and not to be borne. Lucille smoothed down the soft silk of her dress, completely determined to ignore all of his advances and return to the party.

Negan anticipated her movement, standing before her with a devil smile that made his eyes smoulder, “what would you say to a little adventure Miss Pemberley?”

“I would be sure to refuse any adventure you professed to offer Mr Negan.”

“Then I must entice you with better persuasions my dear.”

“You could not.”

“I still have the week and there are many balconies and rooms that contain not even the watchful eye of Mrs Falshaw.”

Lucille flushed, vexed at his insinuation and his complete disregard for any sort of moral decency. Yet somehow feeling thrilled at the very idea of a moment alone on this balcony or any other with Mr Negan who was the most brazen scoundrel that she might ever happen across in polite society.

Negan bowed his head, stepping aside to allow her leave, “until our next encounter Miss Pemberley.”


	2. A Rose

It was in Lord Devonshire’s drawing room that Lucille had her second encounter with one Mr Negan. He stood by the fire with a man she presumed to be his American acquaintance and when she entered the room he dipped his head, his devilish smiled snaking across his face. 

Lucille’s cheeks warmed, her footsteps faltering as she took a seat on the edge of the chaise to engage in conversation with Lady Devonshire or any of the other ladies who were so enamoured in conversation about last night's ball. She could hardly concentrate on conversation as trifling as which dresses were wore or which partners were danced with. All Lucille could think about was Negan and the way his gaze seemed to settle on her skin, she touched her neck chancing a glance over her shoulder to confirm the intensity in his eyes. He was watching her and she had felt every moment of it. Negan raised his eyebrows in amusement, still half in conversation with his friend and Lucille turned back hoping that no one noticed the exchange.

When lunch was announced the party moved to the dining room. Lucille found fate has contrived to torture her by seating Mr Negan to her left. He held out her chair, his thumb brushing the back of her neck as he assisted her so eagerly into her place. 

“We meet again Miss Pemberley,” he crooned, his voice low as he sat next to her suddenly making this encounter in a public room feel illicit. Lucille supposed that Negan was the kind of man to make everything feel illicit. 

“It would seem as much.”

“Are you for the hunt?”

“I would say not Mr Negan. It would be improper.”

“You English and all your damn rules. I’d teach you to ride and shoot, make a frontier woman out of you.”

To her right was Miss Edith Falshaw, the youngest of the Falshaw girls and although Lucille found the youngests of the Falshaw girls to be a terrible bore she kept conversation with her for the entirety of dinner in a way that would suggest she was a great mind on all topics of interest.

///

Lucille sat in the garden, she knew not where the others were but she enjoyed the solitude of sitting amongst the flowers in this secret place. The sun was warm on her shoulders and she thought to take shelter but promised herself five more minutes. She turned the page of her book, so engrossed in the words that she was quite taken aback when a presence joined her. She looked up and saw a single white rose, behind it a fiendish smile.

“Mr Negan.”

He next to her, his body opposite so they could be face to face. “Miss Pemberley…” he twirled the offering in his fingers, his eyes holding competition with hers.

Lucille reached for the rose but he pulled it away, taking her hand in his other and kissing the back of it before he turned it over and kissed the inside of her wrist. Lucille whimpered, the tingles of his lips igniting longing just like they had done on the balcony.

He grinned, shifting along the bench so he sat even closer, “you are so wonderfully untouched Miss Pemberley.”

She blushed, “you mustn't say such things.”

“I will say more, I care very little for your rules my dear. I want to be the man to touch you, to have you, to take and taste every part of you.”

Her blush deepened and her body froze allowing him opportunity to trace the rose across her cheek, the petal’s but a whisper ghosting along her skin before he drew them across her lips. When they had finished their journey she was trembling, the buds of her breasts tightening painfully against her corset, unsure how he could cause such a reaction within her body.

She gazed at Negan, her breathing heavy as he traced the rose along her lips once more before it sank lazily to her neck. Lucille arched her body, her head tipping back to better feel the roses gentle caress. The petals trailed their delicate tingles over her exposed skin until the bud rested between the swell of her breasts. She had never conceived such a wanton moment as this and was abashed by her own crude responses for she was in complete abandon of her body. 

The sun burned her eyes behind her closed lids, there was no sound but that of some far off mockingbird as Negan’s fingers brushed against her ear, gently tucking her hair away as his husky voice whispered to her, 

“And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!”

Lucllies eyes fluttered open to look at him and the dimples creasing in his cheeks “you read Lord Byron?”

“I read you, Miss Pemberley.” He removed the book she was holding, casting it across the garden without regard. “And now I will kiss you until you forget any word but yes,” she knew no protest as he he cupped her cheeks, drawing her face to his, her lips to his, until they were touching. Soft and wet and dangerously sweet, morning dew on fresh bloomed petals.

Lucille bunched her hands into the skirt of her dress as Negan bewitched her with his lips, opening her up, his tongue sinking fervently into her mouth so that she might taste every flavour of him. Her heart beat even wilder, her body hummed an unknown tune and when their lips finally parted she wanted to cry out ‘yes more’ but was silent to the way his dark eyes studied her. So close, his nose no more than a hair's breadth from hers. 

He growled, his eyes smiling, he would consume her now and she would be glad of it. His lips kissed the racing pulse in her neck, setting her body ablaze. She was sinking into new realms of depravity with Negan, letting him lead the way, forgetting anything but the way her body burned. She whimpered, powerless to stop the feelings he was stirring. 

Negan grasped her waist pulling him against her and his lips stopped their most heavenly assault, “say yes to me Lucille, let me make you mine in all ways.”

Lucille could not say what made her regain her senses, but the shame of her behaviour began to burn hot enough to erase the pleasurable flames Negan had stoked, “I will not.” She pushed herself from his arms, “why would I choose you Mr Negan when you would be so improper to sneak about the garden beseeching unsuspecting women in this most ill manner.”

“Because… dare I say you liked it very well Miss Pemberley. And because your precious gentlemen won’t kiss you like I’ve kissed you, nor will they do to you the things that I will do to you.” 

Negan placed the rose in her hand and she pressed her nose against it, her breathing uneven, her mind uncontrolled as she tried not to look at him.

“You’re wondering what I mean?” he gloated.

_ Yes _ . “Certainly not.”

“Indeed you are my dear Miss Pemberley.” Negan tilted her chin to force her gaze to his. “Tonight you will think of all the places that desire my touch and next time we meet you will show me.”

He stood before giving a small bow, the smile in his eyes dark and mocking before he disappeared from the garden, the white rose and her breathless blush the token’s of their encounter. Lucille found her book, carefully placing the stem of the rose within its pages as she hurried to the main house before she lost all sense to Mr Negan. God help her for meeting such a devilish rogue.

///

Lucille loosened the stays of her corset and relief flooded her body, her head falling back to enjoy the moment of freedom before discarding the thing altogether. A pull of ribbon and her petticoats fell to her feet leaving only her chemise as she took a seat at her dressing table. 

She loosened her hair from the plaits her mother had fastidiously fastened and ran her brush along the length of it for less than half the required one hundred strokes. She was far too distracted for such mundane tasks, all her mind could focus on was Negan and every time she looked in the mirror she caught the strange look that was transfixing her face. Her cheeks pink, her eyes dilated. The rose he had given her sat lonely in a tall vase. 

Lucille bit her lip, remembering his kiss as she abandoned her brush in favour of the rose.  She plucked it from its place on top of the fireplace and pressed the bud to her nose. The scent was perfectly sweet and the petals still as delicate as they had been when Negan had caressed her skin. She brushed the rose against her cheek, had petals always been this delicate? Had the smell of a roses always made her body melt like candle wax against the heat? She could not say, only that from this moment a rose would never just be a rose. 

Lucille drifted unconsciously to her bed, the rose bud pressed to her nose as her body fell down to her mattress with a sigh.  All thoughts of Negan so utterly consuming that she could not think to escape as if he was in the very room.

One hand held the rose, running it along her skin to a lesser effect than when Negan had done it while her other hand inched along her body. Her fingertips brushing over her nipples as they tightened. Then along her midriff, an uncertain crawl to the place that Lucille was sure no lady should be touching.

Her mouth was dry, she cast a look to her bedroom door, firmly closed. It would not be disturbed until morning but fear of being caught in such a deviant act made her pulse race, yet it was not enough to stop her.

She pressed her palm between her thighs and gasped, sinking even more into the mattress at the intensity. She tried a lighter sweep, a single finger running along the gossamer thin fabric of her chemise, her body tingled, desire met but not sated. 

Lucille panted, her body desperate for some unnamed thing, dizzy with feelings like her first taste of champagne. She was drunk, but on something altogether different, the smell of the rose the thought of Negan. She pictured his lips on her neck, the bristles of his whiskers tantalizing her skin as her fingers raked the hem of her chemise. Her own delicate touch, caressing the fabric along her legs to the apex.

Her fingers explored with nothing to stop their approach, gliding against her silken wetness where the heat was pooling, calling.  She bit back a moan, her chest heaving in desperate breaths as she imagined the rough touch of Negan’s fingers followed by the soft kiss of his lips. Her index finger teased, finding the placed that called for recognition. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the sensation was too much but she dared not deny it.

Lucille’s hips lifted to meet her fingers stroke for stroke, rubbing small circles as her breathing became ragged. Her other hand clutched Negan’s rose, so tight the barbs cut into her fingers but she couldn’t feel the pain, only pleasure. There was something building, pulsing along her body as she stoked the flames to inferno.

In a moment of uninhibited desire she imagined Negan’s face between her thighs, his dark eyes watching her as he kissed her pleasure in the earnest that he had kissed her lips and the very thought was enough to consume her. Lucille’s body shuddered. “Oh god,” she cried out, crushing the rose in her palm as she came apart, flames licking along her body and consuming her over and over until she was empty, floating and exhausted. 

Lucille knew this was not an act for a proper lady to entertain herself with yet she knew she would do it again. And again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	3. Folly

The clouds were gathering to blanket grey over the blue sky, the heavy smell of summer rain lingered in the air and Lucille felt the first droplet of heaven kiss the tip of her nose. She turned homeward, the wind at her back and her house a faded dot that had long since dipped behind the crest of a hill. Hope of reaching shelter before the storm began its full orchestration quickly waned but she had little choice than to try anyway.

  
  


The walk along the fields had lured her further than planned. Her steps had been light footed, her thoughts entirely consumed by Mr Negan as she’d followed endless trails of wildflowers, gathering the most splendid ones to fill her basket. It had only been yesterday that he’d handed her the rose yet her mind had enjoyed what felt like a lifetime of happy memories recalling every moment of their brief encounter.

  
  


Thunder rumbled deep in the sky and in the distance Lucille noticed lightening flashing dim above the clouds. She increased her speed, the stays of her corset hindering her run enough to force her resignation back to a slowed pace and like clockwork the rain began in earnest. Big fat drops creating a watered viel through which she saw him. Sitting tall on a black horse, the height of his hat only adding to the dark silhouette that he cast before the clouds. Negan smiled, so bright white and assured that it was enough to halt her racing heart. He tipped his hat before kicking the sides of the horse, leading the beast in a gentle trot until she was at his feet, man and horse combined to tower above her.   

  
  


Lucille stood statuesque, her only movement the billowing of her dress as it caught in the wind while rain ran as a waterfall over her bonnet and filled the soles of her shoes. Negan kicked his leg over the horse, landing with well practiced grace and a smile, “My dear Miss Pemberley.”

  
  


“Mr Negan... you are here...” she whispered, quite dumbstruck.

  
  


“And not by chance. I came to call on you, but it seems you think nothing of wandering about the impending storm.” He gestured to the rain, his smile amused, “so you see Miss Pemberley, like a knight on his valiant steed, I am here to rescue you.”

  
  


The lightning cracked across the sky, the thunder rumbled in anger and he took the time to pick a single cornflower from her basket, bringing it to his nose. “You did not like my rose?”

  
  


Lucille’s breath squeezed from her body, her cheeks reddening despite the cold, “very much.”

  
  


He twirled the cornflour, casting it over his shoulder with a smirk before wrapping his hands about her waist and pulling her flush against him without regard for the rain or impropriety. He didn’t say a word, just held her for a moment's pause while he examined her as if she was his own wildflower, freshly plucked. 

  
  


He licked his lips and she thought he might kiss her, she felt her own lips parting in anticipation, her breathing slowing in readiness, but he did not. He picked her up with ease, settling her onto the horse's saddle before he climbed on behind and took the reigns. Negan positioned his body about hers as if she belonged to him and she supposed he was a man who thought the whole world belonged to him, perhaps it did. 

  
  


They galloped at speed as the rain fell in sheets, her basket of wildflowers tumbling from her grasp, lost to the storm as the thunder shook the ground and the lightning struck a great oak tree that stood alone in the field. Wood split apart to a ear slipping crack, the horse reared crying out in terror and Negan held her so tight she could barely breathe. She pressed her head into the safety of Negan’s chest, knowing he would not let her fall. 

  
  


“We should find shelter,” he shouted as the lightening struck the ground behind them.

  
  


“Over there,” Lucille pointed, remembering the nearby old dovecote that was almost hidden by a cluster of trees. 

  
  


Negan kicked the horse into an impossibly fast gallop of hooves splashing through muddied fields, the raging storm lighting their way until they reached the tower that stood over three stories high.

  
  


He climbed down from the horse with haste and without word he pulled her into his arms without letting her feet touch the ground as he kicked the door of the folly open and set her inside. Lucille caught her breath, pulling the bonnet from her head as he disappeared to find a suitable place to shelter his horse. 

  
  


When he returned the rain was spilling down the brim of his hat, his long boots half muddied but his boyish smile was enough to almost bring warmth to the dusty old folly.

  
  


He removed his hat, shaking it out like a dog shakes its waterlogged coat and hung it on the peg that sat about the door, then shrugged off his long coat before turning to her examining her. “You’ll catch a chill standing there Miss Pemberley.”

  
  


Lucille wrapped her arms about herself and shuddered as if the mere mention of the cold had made it reality. She remembered the fireplace that was housed on the floor above, “we could light a fire.”

  
  


Negan’s eyes crept about the almost empty ground floor then up the staircase with his devilish smirk. He tipped his head to the side, and gestured, “lead on Miss Pemberley.”

  
  


The stairway was dark except for the lightning strikes that flashed bright enough to illuminate even the furthest reaches of the shadowed spaces. Part of this folly had once been home to doves which had long since flown away, the other part was rudimentary fixtures for hunters to use on a day's sport. The stairway opened up to a room with a large window on one side, on the other a stone fireplace and in the centre was a wooden table with four chairs. 

  
  


The fireplace was dirty with soot but Negan didn’t sweep it, he grabbed a handful of twigs from the half empty basket and took a kneel to build the fire with what Lucille would consider great accomplishment. Like he had done it many times before and she supposed he probably had. He seemed the sort of man to build fires and be utterly wild, the sort of man who belonged in the centre of the raging storm. She was transfixed, watching him strike the flint to spark a flame in the kindling he had so delicately arranged.

  
  


She watched the movements of his hands, blushing as she recalled in exact the detail every private moment of last night. Negan of course chose that exact instant to look at her, his devilish smile keeping company on his lips and she wondered if he knew, if his dark eyes he could see into her very soul and all the forbidden thoughts that kept home there. Of course he could not know, nor would she ever tell him that he had unlocked something in her like a gamekeeper would free the pheasants. 

  
  


When the fire was lit he removed his tailcoat, hanging it on the back of a chair before he turned to her, gesturing towards the flames, his face an epitome of satisfaction. “You requested fire Miss Pemberley and in creating heat I never disappoint.”

  
  


Lucille’s cloak was heavy with rainwater and as she loosened the ribbon that held it together, the weighted fabric hurried to a pile at her feet. Negan watched it fall before his eyes climbed centimeter after centimeter of her muslin gown pausing at every swell until his gaze focused back on her own. 

  
  


She did not need to look to know the way the rain soaked layers of her dress clung to her legs. She could feel the unrelenting iciness sinking into her bones deep enough to send chills that chattered all the way to her teeth. 

  
  


Negan stepped closer, taking her hand in his before blowing a hot breeze of breath over her knuckles as a prelude to a kiss. His lips were soothing against her skin and as always excitement trickled warmth across her body.

  
  


“You should remove your dress,” he mumbled between hot kisses that pressed against her wrist. 

  
  


Lucilles eyes grew wide as she wrenched her hand from his, utterly mortified at his almost unimaginable request. 

  
  


“Don’t look so appalled my dear, I might not be a gentleman but I have no interest in stealing your virtues,” he strolled to the window, leaning on the frame to look out across the fields and despite her grievance she couldn’t help but observe the fine line of his body and the way his waistcoat clung to it. He looked over his shoulder with a smile, as if he could sense that she was watching him, “you’ll find a blanket by the fire.”

  
  


“You will not look?” Lucille's hand clutched her chest, covering the way her nipples puckered against the wet fabric that moulded to every curve.  

  
  


“On my honor,” he saluted, turning to look out the window once more.

  
  


_ His honor? _ A nervous laugh escaped her lips, Negan was the most dishonorable man she had ever had the misfortune to meet. 

  
  


He snorted almost as if in understanding of the meaning to her laugh. “On  _ your  _ honor then my dear Miss Pemberley.”

  
  


Her fingertips began to lose the warmth that Negan's kiss had allowed and a cold chill returned to her skin, urging her along until she found herself hurrying from her clothes, half unsure and wholly reckless. She remained only in her stockings and chemise, finding the thick brown blanket to wrap about her shoulders before laying her clothes towards the fire to dry. When she finished she turned to find Negan watching her.

  
  


“Sir! You promised you would not look,” her tone was stern, accusatory, but he only grinned.

  
  


“I grew impatient.”

  
  


Lucille pulled the blanket more tightly around herself, “perhaps we should have continued in the rain.”

  
  


“And be struck down by God himself? As Negan said the words a crack of lightening lit the room and a roll of thunder reverberated against the stone walls as if even the heavens themselves were contriving to keep her in this tower with Mr Negan. 

  
  


She thought of her family and the shame it would bring if they knew the situation of which she now stood. Perhaps it was not the heavens keeping her here but the opposite and, “perhaps facing God would have been a safer endeavor.”

  
  


Negan chuckled, “I won’t touch you... not unless you want me to Miss Pemberley.” He loosened the top button of his shirt, “but that's not to say I won’t be impertinent.”

  
  


He took a seat on the edge of the table, stretching out his long legs until they almost touched the hem of her chemise. Lucille felt as if the walls were closing in around her, creating a box in which she was his captive, held only by the way he looked at her and the way her racing heart dared her not to look away. 

  
  


“Do you remember what I said to you yesterday?”

  
  


She remembered every word but shook her head so lightly it would have been missed if he wasn’t studying her so fully.

  
  


“I asked you to think about where you would desire my touch, did you think about it Miss Pemberley?”

  
  


Lucille’s cheeks heated, she turned away from him, no longer able to bear his scrutiny and he laughed, harder this time, the bellows of it filling the room above even the thunder. 

  
  


“I think you thought about it very well.” She heard the creak of the table and felt the air change as he shifted closer to her, “tell me Miss Pemberley.” Negan moved so he was standing directly in front of her, his eyes burning and forcing her heartbeat back into an insatiable rhythm.

  
  


“You  _ are  _ impertinent Mr Negan and I will not engage in such licentious conversation, nor should you expect me to.”

  
  


His devilish smile never wavered as he held his hand to his chest as if he had been struck, “forgive me my dear.” 

  
  


She would not, she held her tongue and straightened her spine in defiance but Negan didn’t ask for forgiveness twice, she supposed he didn’t really care for it the first time. He reached out, squeezing a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger and collecting a drop of rainwater that settled on his thumb before he brought it to his lips. “I’ve changed my mind. Perhaps I will touch you and perhaps I  _ will  _ taste you.” 

  
  


Her heart stopped, her stomach tumbled enough to make her queasy and she tried to step away. Negan stopped her, his hand bunching into her blanket with a tug, not enough to pull it from her body but enough to force all good sense from her brain as her fingers loosed their grip and the fabric slipped away.

  
  


The firelight flickered on his face, burrowing shadows in the happy crinkles of his eyes as his gaze drifted ever lower, his adam's apple swallowing hard, his breathing deepening.

  
  


Lucille opened her mouth to speak, good sense trying to force from every recess of her mind and screaming at her. Yet from her tongue fell not a single word before he was sweeping her into his arms, his lips pressing against her neck, her heart fluttering in wild beats of ‘yes’. Her body was all too eager, her mind found its voice and its was entirely shrill, “I will be ruined.”

  
  


He stopped his kisses but still held her close, “I will not ruin you Miss Pemberley, but that's not to say I won’t corrupt you. Oh, I will corrupt you so you are begging for me to touch every part of your body. I will make you see stars in the lightening and hear music in the thunder.”

  
  


She did not say no. She could not say no and Negan took that as all the acceptance he needed. 

  
  


He kissed her lips, his tongue sinking into her mouth so foreign yet belonging so perfectly, his rhythm like a dance that she had never seen but had always known. He paused his kiss only to scoop her into his arms like she was nothing more than a leaf before sitting her in the center of the table.

  
  


“I will only kiss you,” his hands settled on her thighs urging a pulse of want to curl from within, as his eyes seemed to darken, “surely there’s nothing more innocent than a simple kiss?” 

  
  


There was nothing innocent about Negan. Nor was there anything innocent about the way her mind imagined his kisses caressing every wanting part of her body in a way that no lady ever should even conceive of imagining. “Surely not,” she replied to his amusement, his fingers raking along her thighs with a soft groan.

  
  


“Most definitely not,” he hitched her chemise along her legs, sliding it easily to reveal white silk stockings that had never before been revealed to a single man. She did not think or wish to stop him, she simply wondered at what would come next and how delectable it would feel. 

  
  


He sank to the hard stone floor, kissing her stockinged knee before hitching her skirt further. Her heart was beating madly. To be kissed so passionately by this man was already so abhorrent to everything good breeding had taught her, but to let him see her most intimate places was surely a sin. Yet not enough was her worries to discontinue the promise that lay within his lips. 

  
  


He grinned, his eyes never moving from hers, holding her attention like she was under some sort of spell. If this was sin then he was devil and he was forever lost. Her skirt was about her waist, she felt the anticipation as sharp as a knife's edge that waited to run her through. Pleasure budded where she had found it last night and her breaths panted as if she had been running rather than laying in perfect stillness. 

  
  


He kissed the inside of her thigh, his lips the softness of a rose and his beard the sharpness of a thorn, creating the scratch that followed the itch in perfect tandem. She bit back a moan, embarrassed at her wanton reaction. 

  
  


“I want to hear you,” he growled, his mouth moving dangerously close to her center and this time she cried out, a thrilling gasp.

  
  


Negan had barely touched her yet the anticipation was already far too much, the delight so painfully ticklish, she could barely withstand it. Lucille squirmed from his grasps, pushing him away in almost agony but he just laughed and brought her closer. “So sensative Miss Pemberley, you are enough to make a man wild.”

  
  


“I can’t,” she panted.

  
  


“You can and you will,” his hands held her hips, “relax.”

  
  


He blew a stream of hot air and pressed his lips against her, burying his mouth between her thighs without hesitation. At first she bucked to avoid his touch but then the unbearableness faded to desperation that wanted nothing more than to press her body even closer to his tongue which danced such sweet ministrations. 

  
  


His touch was more well practiced than her own, he knew what her body needed before she even thought to want it. His tongue was fast and light, then long and slow, hard and soft, each change in the rhythm only bringing her body closer to the peak. Waves of pleasure tingled unchartered territory, coiling her tighter and tighter so that the mere sight of Negan on his knees, as if he was worshipping her body, was enough to strike her like lightening. Her body shattered a powerful release that splintered every tight curl of pleasure with Negan’s name calling out from her lips over and over until she was lost. 

  
  


Lucille sunk into the table, her mind a pleasured daze that hardly heard him him moving about the folly before his hand settled on her waist and pulled her upright. She wanted to nestle her head against his chest and sink into what she was sure would be the sweetest dreams but his thumb brushed along her cheek with a grin, “my dear, you sing loud enough to rival even the thunder.”

  
  


Her eyes peeled open only for her gaze to fall to her fingers in shame, what had she done? What have she given herself into? 

  
  


Negan’s hand tightened around her own, “don’t play coy with me Miss Pemberley, you enjoyed it very well and you could enjoy it more,” he tilted her chin, “ _ with me _ .” he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear, “I’d barely even started with you.”

  
  


Pleasure budded again but this time she ignored her body and listened to good sense, “I should not have done it.” Lucille slipped from the table onto unstable legs. Never in her wildest imagination had she dreamed of doing something so illicit with any man. Never in her wildest nightmares had she imagined giving her body so easily to one who was not her husband. 

  
  


“You should and you have. What's more, is that I want it all Miss Pemberley and I am even willing to marry you for the pleasure.”

  
  


She pulled her gown over her head, ignoring the discomfort of the wet fabric and struggling to ease her arms through the sleeves. She should have rejoiced at the proposal or the idea that a man would still want her after such indecency but she felt quite ill and in desperate need of air. “Do not feel you should propose to me Mr Negan. I shall return home and endeavor to forget that this ever happened.”

  
  


“I don’t believe you will Miss Pemberley, I will ask for your hand and you will be most agreeable to it.”

  
  


“I will not.”

  
  


“You most certainly will.”

  
  


She studied him, Negan was a handsome man and by all accounts a wealthy one too, he could choose any woman for his flattery and his proposal yet he had settled on her. “Why me?

  
  


“Why not? Why marry anyone if not for fun? I don’t believe in love, but I believe you could find me very enjoyable company. Marry me Lucille and we can rival the Gods every night.” He laughed wickedly, “days too.”

  
  
  



End file.
